


Incurable Malady

by vuas



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, Possessive Behavior, Sith Rey but she’s also a baby, sith princess rey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22180441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuas/pseuds/vuas
Summary: He is sixteen and too tall when he meets the little Sith princess.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 50
Kudos: 709





	Incurable Malady

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil something I had to get out of my head. Lil baby Sith Rey AU

  
He is sixteen, too tall and kneeling when he meets the little Sith princess; his bones ache with growing pains and the loss of his family, so recent. The mask—a gift from his master—is still lacquered and new.

Palpatine smiles upon his throne, pleased and sickly. An absolutely feral human child stands at his right; her eyes brightly attuned to everything in the room. She is filthy and judging from the bruises and blood on her face, _not_ good at picking her battles.

Kylo Ren recognizes those eyes: particularly strong force sensitive children, of which he’d seen several at the old academy, are often described as otherworldly. Knowing. _Creepy_ , his father would say.

The acolytes are excited—the murmur of the small throne room rises with each breath the child takes.

“I have foreseen...great power.”

_Heard that one before_. He studies the child—she would be rather insignificant save for the glow of her force signature, which was magnificent. White hot, as if she was a dwarf sun masquerading as a six year old girl. She can’t control it—the other knights are restless beside him; they can taste it in the air, the maelstrom rippling off of her. 

Palpatine’s crippled hand comes out to cup the back of her small skull—Ben nearly stands, the sight making him ill. The little girl looks as if she’s going to bite him; the thought is humorous enough to make his lips quirk.

“Kylo Ren,” he drawls. “You will build me the greatest warrior in the galaxy. You will show my granddaughter the true meaning of power.”

Her eyes haven’t left his—or it seems like it. With the helmet on she can’t see his face, and _yet_ —

“Only then you will rule the galaxy as Emperor...” Palpatine turns to smile at the girl, who bears her teeth at him like a desert cat.

“And Empress.”

_Oh_. That’s new.

* * *

“Congrats on the promotion, Supreme _Babysitter_ ,” says Clytemnestra Ren, slapping him on the shoulder with her sister Iphe Ren as they run down the hall with peels of laughter.

Kylo wants to bang his head against the wall until his helmet dents.

Palpatine has essentially given him free reign over a child for the foreseeable _forever_ , which no, he had not seen coming. Sure, she was powerful: even now, the air seemed to shimmer around her. But was this really a fair use of his time?

_Palpatine is wise_. He repeats the mantra in his head.

She was a fighter.In fact, the little girl looked a lot like she was trying to think of a good way to kick his ass. Or, just his shin, considering her height.

“Don’t,” he warns—she flinches at the voice modulator. His hands come up—she flinches again, it makes _him_ wince—to pinch the latch and pull the helm off.

Her eyes go wide. Then her freckled nose wrinkles. “You’re just a _kid_!”

“I am _not_ ,” which _ok_ , maybe she had a point.

He grabs her by the scruff and pulls her into his quarters, much to her vocal protest. 

“I hate you!” She screeches, kicking at him and clawing his hand. He barely feels it. Had children always been this small? Had he been this tiny?

“No you don’t,” he answers, scooping her up on his hip and walking into the fresher. He plops her on the counter and reaches for a clean cloth.

“Yes I do,” she snaps, but it sounds miserable and watery. His chest hurts.

He rinses the cloth and then tips up her chin to inspect the damage—a black eye and a split lip. It looks out of place on such small features. He’s only used to looking at that on his own crooked face.

“You shouldn’t talk back to him. Do what he says and this wouldn’t happen.”

His tone is clipped but it’s all so wrong—she’s too young for this, granddaughter or not. He wonders how long he could keep her safe here in his quarters before Palpatine demands progress.

“But—“

He concentrates on cleaning the dried blood on her chin. “You’re out of options, little princess.”

Her eyes well with tears—he pauses, feeling unsteady. He’s not ready for this. Any of it.

“I want to go home,” she answers, bringing up a grimy sleeve to wipe at her eyes. He hears the brokenness in her tone and _knows_.

The voice that answers does not sound like his own. “This is your home now,” he rasps.

His fingers hold her chin—he presses his hand lightly down and focuses; he knits the blood vessels back together, patches the skin. He does the same for her eye, feeling her flutter with life beneath his fingers. _Force healing comes easy with compassion_ , Luke has said once.

“I’ll show you a real lightsaber tomorrow,” he offers. “You can have a training one soon, if you want.”

She stays silent, but he feels her mind pique. At least he doesn’t have to look at her injuries. At least he can pretend she’s going to be ok.

“Take a shower and I’ll bring you some clean clothes. You’ll feel better in the morning.” He sets her down on the floor. Is it him or his mother talking? He’s pulled those phrases like muscle memory from when he needed comfort. He can almost smell her perfume.

He turns on the water, not the sonic—she’s had a big day—and leaves her to it, finding a mouse droid and ordering clothes. They’re so small in his arms: he spends an inordinate amount of time contemplating her shirt. Palpatine had hit her so easily. 

He’d train her to never be hit again.

The door creaks—she peers into the room bundled in a towel. He tosses the clothing in her direction; Rey snatches it and shuts the door again.

She emerges dressed in black. Her feet are bare, her hair still tangled. He motions her over; she clambers up on the bed and studies him.

“Is Darth Vader really your grandfather?”

He nearly drops the comb he’s levitating over. “Yes,” he answers dutifully.

“Grandfather said we’re already connected by everything that happened in the past. That we’re the end of the story. Like destiny.”

He hums, motioning for her to turn. She hesitates, shooting him a suspicious look before facing the wall and exposing her back and knotted hair.

“He said you’ll be the Emperor. And I’ll be Empress.”

Kylo works the comb from the top to bottom, like his mother had showed him. 

“I don’t want to be anything.” She shuffles a little, and he knows in his heart that she must be crying. He fights the urge to pull her into his lap and hold her until she stops. “I just want my mom. I’m all alone here.”

“Palpatine is wise. Running from destiny is an invitation for chaos.”

She picks at some lint on the bed spread and pouts. Little girls don’t care about destiny.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says suddenly, unsure of where it comes from—it’s deep and vast and absolutely sure as it leaves his mouth. “I’ll kill him if he ever touches you again.”

_You’re mine,_ he thinks. _I can save one good thing._

Rey yawns—he tries only half heartedly to send her to the room next to his; she curls up under his blanket and tells him she’s not tired. 

Her eyes shut easily a minute later. A small part of him is jealous.

It’s been a long time since he’s shared his bed—since before his name was Kylo Ren, at least. He remembers the basics, but Rey is a blanket-hog. He curls protectively around her, watching the rise and fall of her breath. Every once in awhile his fingers brush her back to make sure she’s still real.

“Little Sith princess,” he whispers. “You’re not alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> Remember all those cute baby Jedi Rey fics where she follows him around at Luke’s academy? This is the opposite because I’m garbage and I love suffering


End file.
